


Lean back

by hungerpunch



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-20
Updated: 2013-06-20
Packaged: 2017-12-15 13:43:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/850202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hungerpunch/pseuds/hungerpunch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Roughhousing," Niall clarifies, inching closer so he doesn't have to raise his voice and risk waking Harry. "It turns you on. You're like an actual Pavlov's Bell."</p><p>"You know what Pavlov's Bell is?" Zayn asks, looking genuinely surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lean back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [icecreamsocialist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icecreamsocialist/gifts).



> don't look at me.
> 
> a very belated birthday gift for lindsay ♥ apologies for the lack of brit-pick :(

"How'd you get so good at this?" It's the question everyone grumbles at some point or another, usually on the floor, beneath the victorious drape of Zayn's limbs over a pile of defeated band mates.

Zayn just smiles, tongue pushing against his teeth, incredibly pleased with himself. "Danny," he always says. 

Louis hears that so often that he actually brings it up to Danny one night, while Danny is visiting on tour. "How'd you turn that twig into such a scrapper anyway?" Louis asks, jerking a thumb in Zayn's direction.

"'That twig' is offended," Zayn mutters archly from the couch without looking up from his Kindle. 

Danny spares an affectionate glance for him before his eyes flit back to Louis. "An intense training regime," Danny answers, and when Louis opens his mouth again, undoubtedly to ask for specifics, Danny cuts him off. "Family secret," he says, finger over his lips in a shushing gesture. He even winks. Since not even Louis has discerned how to get what he wants out of Danny, he forfeits—a rare move for the Tommo—and moves grudgingly on. But the curl of Danny's lingering smirk imprints itself onto Niall's brain with how downright wolfish it seems.

It's not something Niall realizes he's been thinking about until he's high with Zayn one night. It's Deadly Day, but the two of them are pretty much Deadly Tired, so they're staying in with a packed bong and a dozen cartons of food to match instead. 

"What is the bloody secret?" Niall blurts out, devoid of all context. Zayn blinks slowly at him. "To the. Danny." Niall waves his hands. "Training. Fight stuff." 

Niall's lucky that Zayn's spent enough time around him to understand what he's trying to say in spite of his inability to actually say it. "Oh," Zayn says, his eyes widening in clarity before drooping once again. Zayn lolls back onto the couch, a reminiscent smile on his face. He stares at the ceiling like that, just smiling, for several long moments, before shrugging and giving up the game. "Blow jobs," he says.

"What?" Niall deadpans, more statement than question. 

"Winner got blow jobs," Zayn sighs dreamily. "That was the incentive." 

Niall stares and then starts to laugh—small snort-giggles at first, escalating until his head is back and his whole body is shaking with the force of it. At some point, he becomes acutely aware that Zayn is laughing too. Niall wipes his eyes and rolls his head back down, cheeks flushed now and eyes slightly red from the pot. "Some _family secret_ ," he says, leaning forward to lift the bong from the table between them and take a hit. Zayn, his own face bright from laughing, makes grabby hands for it until Niall passes it to him, chucking the lighter at him afterwards. 

Zayn takes a hit. "So you're like," he begins, voice tight and raspy with the effort of holding the smoke in. He uses hand gestures futilely at Niall as if to illustrate a point, though he hasn't actually made one. "You're not, like, bothered?" he asks at last on a long exhale. 

Niall tilts his head and somehow through the haze infers exactly what Zayn means. He raises an eyebrow and adopts what he's pretty sure is his most _are you kidding me_ face in his vast arsenal of expressions. "Zayn," is all he says, short and dubious, with a bit of a laugh at the end of it—god he can't seem to stop finding everything funny. Fuck. 

Zayn smiles, wide and genuine, as he sets the bong back on the table. "All right," Zayn says. "Cool, just checking." 

Somehow they drift away and onto another topic without further notice. In hindsight, Niall thinks had he been sober, he'd have pursued it, but writes it off as a missed opportunity and keeps the information to himself.

The next time a wrestling dog pile occurs on the tour bus, however, Niall sees the efficiency and, he thinks, near desperation Zayn brawls with in an entirely new light. Much the same, he pointedly notices the way Zayn vanishes to the bathroom for ten minutes after being declared the winner, _again_ , much to everyone's aggravation. Niall watches, notes his absence and then his reemergence, but doesn't say anything. At least, not until much later, when Liam and Louis have both gone to the bunks to sleep for the night and Harry is asleep on the couch in front of the telly. Niall will cover him with a blanket but first, he has a plan.

"So," he says, confrontational, sitting up from where he's been lounging across the giant bed in the back of their bus and twisting to Zayn, who's been sitting behind him up against the wall for the better part of the evening. Zayn looks up from his Kindle, attentive, eyebrows up, the glow of the little screen in his hands washing his face with a faint light. "So," Niall says again, licking his lips. "It turns you on, right?"

Zayn's face screws up in confusion. "Uh, pardon?" 

"Roughhousing," Niall clarifies, inching closer so he doesn't have to raise his voice and risk waking Harry. "It turns you on. You're like an actual Pavlov's Bell."

"You know what Pavlov's Bell is?" Zayn asks, looking genuinely surprised. 

"Ouch," Niall chuckles, flipping Zayn a quick middle finger, but he refuses to be thrown off course. "But really, mate." 

Zayn bites his lip and, without looking, deftly presses the button to turn the screen of his Kindle off. Niall is familiar enough with the minutiae of Zayn's face to recognize instantly that he's blushing, even if it's too dim to see the pink in his cheeks. The silence stretches a minute, but Niall keeps his gaze steady, quiets his breathing. "You could say that," Zayn admits eventually.

"I _could_ say that," Niall picks up quickly. "What would _you_ say?"

Zayn laughs, a little disbelieving, but he's in the middle of a tour with a band that has already made him abandon most of his inhibitions at this point. "I say," he murmurs, hovering, his voice a whisper now, unconvinced that Harry's sleep is deep enough to not awaken any second now. "I say, yeah, the... it turns me on, but it's," he pauses to scrub the side of his face tiredly, "it's more complicated than that?"

"How so?" Niall asks, breathless, fixated. 

"It's not like I need a wrestling match to happen, ah, I mean, it's just... I dunno. Something about the adrenaline. Something about the, uh. The pain." 

Niall's eyebrows knit. "We don't hurt each other, not too bad, yeah?" 

Zayn shakes his head reassuringly. "Of course not. But it doesn't, like. Doesn't have to be a lot, you know? Just gettin' knocked around a little bit. It's, well. I like it." He drops his attention to his lap and curls his hands around his Kindle in his lap. "Done talking now, if that's okay by you," he says, smiling even though Niall's sure he finds zero percent of this humorous. 

Niall's lips twitch downward. "Hey," he says, moving to take Zayn's hand. "I didn't mean to push, Zayn, sorry. I was just, I dunno, curious I guess." He turns Zayn's hand palm-up and drops a kiss there, in between Zayn's heart and life lines. "I don't think it's bad." 

Zayn raises his head at that, his hand clammy in Niall's, and chances a glance at Niall's face. "No?"

Niall smiles, open, warm. "Nah, mate." He leans forward and presses another kiss to Zayn's forehead before sliding off the bed. "I won't say anything, y'know. No worries," he chatters, pulling down a blanket from overhead and covering Harry. "Night then, love ya, Zayn," he says over his shoulder as he heads through the curtain and to his bunk.

"Love you, too," Zayn says, slow, kind of dazed if he's honest with himself, as he watches Niall disappear. 

And after that, it's weeks of nothing. The boys wrestle as per usual, and Zayn frequently flits off to his bunk or the bathroom after winning, as per usual, and Niall says nothing and Zayn can't tell if he's relieved or not. 

Then one morning, in an actual hotel room and not the tour bus, Niall attempts to wake Zayn up; a task cherished by no one. Zayn scrunches his eyes shut and burrows his face under his pillows and refuses to budge. "Zayn. Zayn. _Zayn, come on_ ," Niall says, volume increasing in exasperation, poking harshly at Zayn's back. Zayn grunts and thinks nothing in this mortal life could possibly be more important than the edge of sleep he's riding. 

"You fuckin' asked for this," Niall mutters, and Zayn distantly catalogs the sound of Niall's footsteps moving around to the far side of the bed, but he doesn't think anything of it. "Rise and shine," Niall chirps evilly and then Zayn finds himself bodily shoved out of the bed, yelping as he lands in a painful thud, a discordant pile of limbs stuck at awkward angles. He snaps his head up to see Niall peering at him, leaning over the edge of the bed. 

"Fuck you," Zayn hisses unhappily. "Unnecessary." At least, that's what he tries to say, but it all comes out slurred and rough. Niall seems to read him loud and clear anyway.

"Warned you," he remarks, shrugging from his perch above Zayn. "I'm not getting in trouble on account of your lazy arse." Zayn grumps at him, a glare that is practically Satan condensed, at his stupidly sunny morning face and already coiffed hair. Without thinking, he reaches a heavy arm up to snatch Niall's shirt collar and yanks hard. 

Not expecting such catlike reflexes from a sleepy Zayn, Niall tumbles down from the bed squawking. In hindsight, Zayn wishes he'd thought that through better, because all of Niall's bony self landing on him at once doesn't exactly feel awesome. 

"Twat," Niall coughs, elbowing Zayn's side for extra measure. Zayn smacks at the back of his head and Niall twists around, toes pushing off Zayn's flailing calves for leverage, until he has the room to punch Zayn squarely in the arm. Zayn stills and they both stare at each other in faux anger until unanimously and silently deciding on a tickle war.

On the whole, Niall is more ticklish than the rest of them combined, and Zayn knows all his sweet spots, but of the two of them, Niall is the only one caffeinated yet, and he's doing a good job at besting Zayn. After a fair bit of flailing about, in effort to not let Zayn near his sensitive armpits, Niall ends up straddling Zayn's chest with his knees V'd out to pin Zayn's biceps to the ground, their hands locked together tightly. He's laughing, they're both laughing, until Zayn starts to pull more and more air into his lungs slowly and, oddly, the calmer he gets the redder his cheeks go. 

"Niall," he says quietly, his face suddenly serious. "Let me up now." 

Niall drops his hands immediately. "What?"

"Up, get up," Zayn repeats, and Niall clambers off of him, pulling himself up to stand. He watches worriedly as Zayn sits up and, tellingly, drags a fallen collateral damage pillow over his lap. "Um."

It's not like over two years of touring and living in each others pockets has left them much privacy; they've all seen each other sporting morning wood and ill-timed boners. But this time there's a distinct lack of banter, as Zayn doesn’t say a word, and a light bulb goes off in Niall's head. "Is that ‘cause of," he fumbles, because he doesn't want to say _because of me?_ "Of just now?" he asks instead, eyes wide.

"Really?" Zayn asks, shoulders hunching. "You're really asking me that?"

"I just—" Niall starts.

Zayn stands, keeping the pillow in place, and starts to pass Niall to get to the door. "Tell the others I'll be right down," he dismisses, and Niall makes an executive decision, grabbing Zayn's free arm and spinning him back around.

"Zayn," he snaps. "I'm not making fun of you!"

"Well I'm embarrassed anyway," Zayn snaps back. "I just popped one over a tickle match with one of my best mates!" 

"A best mate who doesn't give a shit," Niall exclaims, barely refraining from eye-rolling. 

"Okay," Zayn flings the arm not holding the pillow aside in frustration. "Great, that's very kind of you, but I—"

"For fuck's sake," Niall growls and pushes Zayn back by both of his shoulders, slamming him into the wall. All the breath goes out of Zayn in a shudder and he reflexively drops the pillow. Niall presses close, their chests together solidly, Zayn's heaving beneath his, and he pushes his forearm up across Zayn's throat to bracket him still. "Zayn," he says, forcing himself to speak calm and slow, lips nearly brushing Zayn's ear. "Can I— Will you let me do something about it?" 

He almost regrets it, with how long it takes Zayn to answer. The pause between them is full of static and nervous energy and Niall thinks if Zayn turns him down now, it won't be the end of the world, but he'll certainly feel more foolish than ever before in his life. But then, "Yes," Zayn whispers, and Niall feels it, warm breath against his neck, more than he even hears it, it's so quiet.

He pulls back a fraction to look Zayn in the eye, and almost falls over at the picture there; Zayn's eyes dark and half-lidded, cheeks flushed, mouth slack. "Yes?" he asks again, swallowing. 

Zayn nods quickly.

"Okay," Niall says. "Right, okay." Admittedly, he feels slightly caught off-guard now. 

"Let me blow you," Zayn murmurs. 

"Um, yeah?" Niall agrees, because, well, why not? He steps back and before he can really process it, Zayn's switched their places, shoving Niall back against the wall and sinking to his knees fluidly. He's unbuttoning Niall's jeans and pulling them down with more dexterity than he's ever exhibited before noon before and Niall's just a little out of breath over it all, balling his fists and pressing them into the wall behind him.

"No," Zayn says, and Niall doesn't understand what he's talking about until Zayn reaches around for his fists and forcibly unfurls them, guiding Niall's fingers into his hair. "Here," he instructs softly. 

"Right," Niall says, trying not to gape, starting to feel like a broken record. Zayn returns to getting his jeans down and then his pants, helping Niall's cock and balls out over the elastic of them. He's semi-hard purely from the proximity and intent of Zayn, and there's no pause as Zayn wraps a hand around him, jacking him firmly as he dips down to lip at Niall's balls. 

Everything becomes a string of curse words and absent prayers to Jesus and God and other saints and heavy breathing as Zayn works him up. After a minute, he pulls back and seems to refocus himself, looking up at Niall and seeming strangely serene. At least, it’s strange until Niall remembers that Zayn apparently grew up giving blow jobs if he lost a wrestling match. "Anything you want, okay?" Zayn says, and doesn't give Niall a chance to answer before fucking _deep throating him_. 

"Christ," Niall almost shouts, voice cracking, his toes curling instantly. Without thinking he pulls Zayn's hair and Zayn moans around him, eyes shut, paper-thin lids trembling. Niall whimpers and tries to stop his brain from leaking out of his ears. "Yeah?" he asks, tugging the tufts of sleep-mussed hair in his hands again and Zayn nods imperceptibly, tongue working frantically against the underside of Niall's cock, pushing along the blood-heavy vein there. Niall pulls his hair harder, curling his knuckles in tight, and then thrusts minutely into Zayn's mouth. He hears him gag and pulls back, already apologizing, but Zayn's hands fly up to grip his hips and stop him there. His nostrils flutter as he regains control over his breathing, but he opens his eyes and looks up, and Niall almost swallows his own tongue at Zayn's shiny, ruined gaze. Zayn manually drags Niall's hips back in, taking his cock deeper and deeper until Zayn's nosing the curly nest of hair at the base. And then, as if he's got something to prove, he drops his hands and clasps them behind his back.

"God, Zayn," Niall shuts his eyes and just feels everything for a moment—the unforgiving heat of Zayn's mouth and the lavish suction of his tongue, the wet mess of saliva and precome dribbling down Zayn's chin and Niall's dick. Then he does what he figures he's basically getting spelled out instructions to do and fucks Zayn's mouth. 

He's cautious at first, biting into his lower lip, not wanting to hurt Zayn, but every time his control slips and he thrusts more enthusiastically, Zayn groans, deep in his chest, his eyebrows knitted up. So after a while Niall drops all composure. He tugs Zayn's head forward by his hair and pushes in, grinding filthily close against his face, unable to stop the high whines in the back of his throat at how fucking amazing it feels. He knows he's not going to last long, not with how all-consuming this is, his whole body flushed and quaking against the wall. And especially, he thinks, with how good Zayn looks, his face hot to the touch when one of Niall's hands strays out of his hair to brush his cheek. 

"Zayn," he says, desperate. "Close, I'm so fu-hu-cking close," he warns tremulously, rutting hard. Zayn makes an absent noise of acknowledgement and sucks with gusto, cheekbones looking like the sharpest knives. "C-coming," Niall stutters before thrusting in one last time and coming, banging his head back against the wall and not feeling any pain, groaning long and low in spite of his best efforts to keep his mouth shut. 

A few seconds pass and then Niall feels Zayn press his forehead against Niall's thigh and he looks down to see Zayn with his boxers off and fisting his own dick. "Stop," Niall pants, letting himself drop down the wall. He tucks himself back into his pants and zips his jeans up before reaching out to Zayn, who has frozen in place. Niall pulls Zayn into his lap and takes his leaking cock in hand, using thorough, firm strokes to jerk him off while he leans forward and sucks bruising kisses into Zayn's chest. Zayn's moans now are unrestricted, uneven hiccupped things from his loose, shiny mouth as he arches his back. Niall works up the long, lean line of Zayn's body as far as he can, biting to mark, the hand not on Zayn's cock pinching one of his dusky nipples roughly. 

"C'mon," Niall urges against the plane of muscle between Zayn's nipple and collarbone. "C'mon Zayn, wanna see you come." 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Zayn starts chanting under his breath, the muscles in his thighs twitching. He curls forward, one hand splayed against the wall behind Niall's head, and he turns his face into the crook of his own elbow, biting there as he comes, thick and sudden over Niall's hand.

"Fuck," Niall echoes in awe, pumping Zayn through the last of his orgasm, til he's dry and spasming in Niall's grip. 

"Oh my god," Zayn gasps incoherently as he sinks down Niall's body until his face is smashed into Niall's shoulder. "Never moving. Ever." 

"We have to," Niall laments. "We're definitely late by now."

"Who cares?" Zayn breathes heavily. "Orgasms." 

"Yeah," Niall has to agree, hands petting down Zayn's back. "Thanks, by the way, holy fuck."

He feels Zayn's small smirk against the bone of his shoulder. "Yeah, you too."

Niall shrugs. "Didn't do much, really." 

"Yeah, but." Zayn lifts his head up to look at him, lids low with contentment but biting his lip in utter earnestness. "Thanks for like. Everything."

Niall smiles. "Of course, mate. You can uh...always count on me?" he finishes questioningly, squinting one eye at his own uncertain words. 

Zayn’s answering grin is pleased and dopey. "I can?"

Niall nods rapidly. "Yeah. Definitely. I mean if, if you like." 

"I like," Zayn smiles wider. "I think I'd like even more if I taught you what to do with me properly." 

Niall gulps. "Yeah, that'd be, cool. Very cool, I," he stammers, and then gives up, dropping his head back against the wall. "Have mercy on me," he whines. 

Zayn laughs at him then, loud and clear. "Get up and start the shower for me and I won't hold it against you," he giggles.

Niall leans up and presses a kiss to the hollow of Zayn's throat. "Deal."


End file.
